


Imprinting

by carolej126



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim relives a moment from an early case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprinting

Ellison!

Jim Ellison was jolted awake by the sound of his partner's frantic voice. Shoving bed clothes out of the way with a vicious sweep of his hand, he rolled out of bed and reached for his gun. Five seconds later he was flinging open the door to his roommate's bedroom to look inside.

Curled up facing the door, Blair was sound asleep, both hands tucked cozily underneath his pillow. Soft snores emanated from his partially open mouth.

Using his senses, Jim carefully assessed his Guide's condition, then quietly backed away from the room, thankful that his presence had not disturbed the younger man.

Sentinel eyes scanned the loft. All seemed well.

Puzzled, but with the knowledge that his territory was secure, Jim returned to his bedroom above.

Ellison!

Quickly sitting up as he heard his name being called, Jim grabbed his gun before launching himself off the bed and down the stairs. With heartbeat racing and his gun held at the ready, he peered into the dark bedroom.

Blair was still in the same position, still sound asleep.

The Sentinel approached his Guide, lowering his gun as he paused silently next to the small futon bed. Reaching out, he lightly touched the young man's forehead to brush back the errant curls that partially covered his face. Blair mumbled softly and turned over, but didn't waken. Reassured by a quick scan of his Guide's vital signs, Jim turned toward the door.

Jim stopped as he entered the living room, letting his senses range out over the area, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Identifying and discarding the normal night time noises, he could sense no threat to himself or to his Guide.

The detective shook his head, still puzzled, and decided to spend the rest of the night on the couch, within close reach of his partner's room.

Ellison!

Jim fell off the narrow couch as he hastily tried to get to his feet. For a third time that night he bolted toward the small bedroom, gun in hand, only to come to a relieved halt as he saw his partner slumbering peacefully.

He stood there for a long time, shaken by the memory of Blair's panic-stricken voice, then resolutely strode to the couch to pick up a pillow and the multi-colored afghan. Sitting down on the floor next to the open door to Sandburg's room, he arranged the pillow behind his back and wrapped himself in the afghan.

"Jim?"

Jim's eyes sprang open, startled to find Blair gazing down at him in confusion.

"Jim? What are you... why are you sleeping out here?"

Rising to his feet, Jim clutched at the afghan as it slipped from his shoulders, unable to meet his partner's eyes.

"Jim?" Blair repeated softly.

Jim lifted his head to see Blair's worried face. "It's nothing, Chief, just had a bad dream."

"So you decided to sleep on the floor outside my room? Come on, Jim. When I opened the door you were mumbling something about a bus. What's going on? Talk to me."

"I need to get breakfast started," Jim hedged, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Jim, please."

Taking a deep, resigned breath as he recognized the 'I'm not going to drop this' tone in his Guide's voice, Jim allowed Blair to steer him into the living room. He sat down on the couch as the younger man perched on the armrest.

Blair waited patiently, his eyes fixed on his Sentinel's face.

"Last night I kept hearing you," Jim said slowly.

"Hearing me do what?"

Jim hesitated. "You were calling my name."

Blair shrugged. "I guess I could have been dreaming or something, but..."

Jim shifted his hands restlessly, nervously. "No, it wasn't you. It was me."

"What do you mean?"

Jim exhaled loudly. "I was dreaming about the Switchman case. We were on the bus, and I gave you my gun while I looked for the bomb..."

"Yeah, I remember," Blair replied, eyes wide at the memory invoked. "Veronica wouldn't tell you where it was and when you wanted me to help you look for it, I told you to..."

"You called my name, didn't you?" Jim interrupted. "Three times."

Blair blinked as he thought back to that moment. "Yeah, I guess I did. She tried to get the gun away from me, and I yelled for help, but..."

"I didn't hear you," Jim admitted softly.

"You were focused on finding the bomb, man. If you hadn't found it..."

"But I should have heard you," Jim whispered. "You're my Guide. Why didn't I hear you?"

Blair stared at his partner, inhaling sharply as he met Jim's troubled gaze.

"Why didn't I?" Jim repeated, his voice quietly plaintive as he pleaded for an answer.

"I'm... I'm not sure," Blair began hesitantly. "Maybe..." His voice trailed off and the young anthropologist was lost in thought. Moments later he nodded almost imperceptibly, then reached out to gently rest his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jim, I think you didn't hear me because it was early in our friendship and early in this Sentinel/Guide thing."

"I don't understand, Chief," Jim said, visibly relaxing in response to his Guide's calm, soothing voice. "What's that got to do with it?"

"We had just met and we barely knew each other. At that point, you were just starting to imprint me on your senses."

"Starting to what?"

"Imprint. You know, like how a baby learns the smell and sound of his mother or a mother bird knows her baby."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Are you comparing me to a mother bird?" There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Well, yeah. It only makes sense that a Sentinel would imprint his Guide. It would be an instinctive behavior. In times of danger a Sentinel would need to know where his Guide was." Blair leaned toward the older man. "Right now you can find my voice, probably even my smell, in a crowded room, right?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I can. I can find your heartbeat, too."

"Really? My heartbeat? That's so cool," Blair gushed, jumping to his feet and beginning to pace in front of the couch. "I wonder what else you..."

Jim reached out to pull his Guide to a stop. "Sandburg, no tests right now."

Blair chuckled, sitting down on the couch with one foot tucked under him. "Sorry. But think about it. Yesterday, when I called your name in that warehouse, you heard me even through all the noise and distractions."

Jim's eyes shifted to meet Blair's, remembering the fear he'd felt when he saw his partner backed up to the wall, Fredrickson's arm across his throat. "You yelled for me."

"I didn't yell, Jim, I barely got out a whisper, but you tuned into my voice immediately. It's a good thing, too. That guy would have done some serious damage," Blair added, rubbing his throat.

"But... I don't get it. I heard you and got there in time, so why did I dream about the time that I didn't hear you."

Blair shrugged. "Might be as simple as one traumatic event triggering the memory of another. Or, maybe, on some unconscious level, you're afraid that you won't hear me."

Jim mulled over Blair's words before nodding slowly. "And you could get hurt or even..." he broke off, unable to voice his ultimate fear.

"Jim, what happened yesterday proves that you will hear me. I knew that you would," Blair added.

The Sentinel studied his Guide's face. "You did?"

"Didn't doubt it for a second." Blair gave his partner a wide grin. "You'll always hear me if I need you."

Blue eyes locked on blue as Jim smiled back, his face brightening at Blair's confident reassurance.

A companionable silence filled the loft for a few minutes before Jim glanced at his partner. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Yep. Shower first, though."

"Okay. I'll grab mine when you're done. Just don't use all of the hot water," Jim warned with a mock growl. "Or else."

"I'll try, but no promises, man," Blair laughed. He ducked as Jim lightly swatted at his head, then quickly rose to grab some clean clothes from his bedroom and enter the bathroom.

"Mother bird," Jim chuckled, repeating his Guide's words with an amused shake of his head. He draped the afghan over the back of the couch and headed for the kitchen before murmuring, "And what does that make you, Chief?"

~end~


End file.
